The Science of Deduction, Life and Maybe a Little Love
by superduperwholock
Summary: Jordyn Birkham is just your above-average American crime-solver. She's not quite up there with Sherlock Holmes, but she's close. A call from Lestrade to move over to London leaves her to work closely with Sherlock himself. Anything could happen between the two almost equals. DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN BBC SHERLOCK YO [Sherlock/OC] T for mild language. Slightly AU with the same ending.
1. Chapter 1

The Science of Deduction, Life, and Maybe a Little Love

**(About three or four months before The Reichenbach Fall)**

Introducing Me

My flat was basically empty. I didn't need much to live on. I had a few books, a couch, a television, a computer, a few blankets and one stuffed animal. Besides the appliances, I didn't need much more than that. I'd just moved here from California. It was a big change from sunny California to dreary London. Although I lived halfway across the world, I'd already made a name here in London. DI Lestrade already knew who I was; he was the reason I was here right now. A lot of people around the world knew who I was and what I did. I was Jordyn Birkham, the red-gloved, trenchcoat-robed, scarf-caped, beret-wearing brunette crime-solver! I had a website and even a column in the paper. My phone vibrated, ringing.

"Speak of the devil…" I muttered to myself. "Hello."

"It's Lestrade." I frowned.

"Yes, I know it's you, I have caller ID. What is it you need?" I could hear papers shuffling in the background.

"I've got a job for you." Huh. Didn't think he'd get me on the job so soon.

"Shoot." I leaned back on the couch, nearly lying down.

"It's the one in the papers, I'm sure you've seen it. There are a few details not listed there though. For instance, at every scene we've been to, there was a penny on the girl's head, even if her head had been severed. The funny thing is though, the murder weapons were alternating between suffocation with a plastic bag and piano wire," I huffed in thought, consumed in finding any clues in this explanation.

"Well, I'll let you know as soon as I know anything." There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"I've got another two people working on this case. Do you think you might be able to work with some folks for this once?" I grunted. I really despised working with other people, but this case seemed like it would be mildly entertaining and give my brain a good workout. I sighed in defeat.

"Yeah, I guess. Where do I need to meet them at?"

"It's 221B Baker Street. Stop by the office to get some info on the two first though." I nodded as if he could see me through the phone and hung up. I gathered my things, threw on my beret, my red leather gloves, and my trenchcoat and headed downstairs to hail a cab.

I stood on the doorstep of 221B where I was supposed to meet my new partner in crime-solving. I rang the doorbell and waited for a second. An elderly lady answered the door.

"Oh, hello! You must be the new assistant! You're very pretty. I get a feeling you and the boys will get along just fine," she gushed. "They're upstairs. Go on up!" I smiled and thanked her. I jogged up the stairs and stood in the doorway, waiting for the men to notice me. The two seemed to be in a heated argument over a computer. I stood there patiently, for I knew fights like this could go on for a long time. John, the shorter one glanced over in my direction once and went back to the argument. I shoved my red leather clad hand in my pocket, rumpling the file in there slightly. John looked back at me and said something quietly. Sherlock seemed to be on a rampage. John yelled,

"SHERLOCK! We have a guest, be polite please!" That seemed to stop Sherlock in his tracks. I put on my fake English accent to see if I could fool Sherlock Holmes.

"Sherlock, John, nice to make your acquaintance. I'm Jordyn Birkham," Sherlock didn't seem too impressed and turned away, saying

"Fake." I blinked a few times, still putting on the accent.

"Excuse me? Are you insulting me?" Sherlock scoffed and turned around to face me. He gestured wildly.

"Yes, no, maybe, I don't know. Your accent is clearly fake," I smiled and interrupted his chain of thought. I let go of the accent and resumed with my American one.

"Well, that was quick. Usually most people don't even notice. They think it's real and aren't any the wiser," Sherlock raised an eyebrow. John looked between us, confused.

"Wait, how did you know our names?" I smiled and placed a finger to my lips.

"All will be revealed soon," I interjected, amused that he hadn't noticed the large-ish lump in my coat pocket. Sherlock interrupted this small exchange with a quite rude throat-clearing and looked at me expectantly. I smiled and directed my attention towards him.

"As I was saying earlier, your accent was fake. Obviously. Your skin is a bit too tan, signifying you haven't been here too long. So you're from the states. You've also got a pair of sunglasses in your left pocket, a habit you developed because of where you used to live; which was somewhere sunny, so I'm assuming California. In your right pocket is a file containing my and John's information, which you no doubt received from Lestrade; who sent you here." I smiled, impressed.

"Bravo. Now, may I enter your humble abode?" I looked up at him expectantly. Of course I had to look up, he was a tall man. I would say about 5'9"… 5'11" at the most. Maybe, just maybe 6'0'. I took a seat on the couch and Sherlock remained standing. John sat down in the chair nearest the kitchen. "So, what is it you need me for?" Sherlock paced the living room. He didn't stop pacing, but began to speak.

"Lestrade called you and told you about me, which means he thinks I'll need help. I hardly ever do, but I guess since he referred you to me, he's worried about something," I crossed my legs politely. "Now, let's see, how you could help. You seem fairly intelligent, though nowhere near my level of intelligence," I chuckled at this last remark. "I'm assuming Mycroft hasn't contacted you yet, you seem to be quite content sitting there," I shook my head. "Good, that's good," He faced me and said, "If he offers you money to spy on me, take it. We could use it," I looked at him oddly.

"Are you sure, Sherlock?" John rolled his eyes.

"He's always sure." I looked at Sherlock confusedly. Alright. Maybe I would take the deal.

"Right, back to the situation at hand. What has Lestrade told you about the case? Anything important?" I thought for a second. Lestrade had told me some things about the case; I just couldn't seem to think of them this instant. Wait! There was one small detail that Sherlock might have not noticed. What was it again? I placed my head in my hands, still very much aware that Sherlock was awaiting an answer. I galloped through my thoughts, looking for any trace of the previous conversation with Lestrade. Let's see… there was the bit about the penny on the head and the fact that the girls were only22 year-old blonde girls, but Sherlock most likely knew about that from the media. Hm, what else had Lestrade said? Well, he'd told me to be careful around Sherlock… pfft. I didn't need any warnings; I knew exactly how Sherlock acted… Now back to the crime. What else was there? Oh! Lestrade had said that there were alternating murder weapons!

"There were alternating murder weapons. One was a piano wire and the other was a plastic bag." Sherlock scrunched his face up in thought about this and tapped his chin. I leaned back on the couch and almost laid down, but Sherlock interrupted my almost rest by sitting down heavily on the far end of the couch. I frowned and rested my head on the wall.

Every few minutes, Sherlock would get up, pace around the room and sit back down. Time passed like this for about thirty minutes. I sighed.

"Is there anything else you need me for?" John shrugged. Sherlock waved me off, which I assumed meant 'be quiet'. "Well, since there's clearly nothing for me to do here, I'll just head back to my flat." John looked at me funnily. As soon as I was walking out of the door, Sherlock yelled,

"1979!" I whirled around quickly, surprised with the sudden outburst coming from Sherlock.

"What?" I looked Sherlock directly in the eyes. "What does 1979 have to…" I thought for a second. 1979, 1979, 1979, 1979… It was clearly a reference to another case that happened in 1979. Was there a case that involved piano wire, a penny, or suffocation? I was very confused. I re-entered the flat and sat down on the couch, pulled my laptop out and googled '1979 murder piano wire and suffocation'. My search returned over 1,000 results and I was a little miffed. I heard Sherlock say, 'the first result' and clicked on it.

I scanned the article, looking for anything that might help the case out any further, but the killer had not been captured. He was most likely dead by now, so that ruled him out. So it was most likely some sick bastard who was obsessed with murder shows and had decided to try it out himself. There weren't any salvageable prints, so we couldn't get him that way… This was why Lestrade needed Sherlock.

I spent the next six hours comparing and contrasting the two crimes. The original one only had 4 deaths, where the current one already had 5. Sherlock had John write down the similarities and differences between the two while I kept researching.


	2. Chapter 2

**Dreams and Fears**

**(Sorry if I use any terminology incorrectly, I'm American… nyeh)**

It had been a couple hours since Sherlock had yelled 'I HAVE IT'. I wasn't too sure about why I was helping Sherlock Holmes with a case that he could clearly handle on his own, but my eyelids were drooping a lot. I checked my watch to see if there was any way I could possibly get home and sleep. God damn! It was 1:00 in the morning. I quietly closed my laptop, knowing there was no way I could get home at all tonight, which was actually this morning. I attempted to say 'I'm going to sleep' but it just came out as an incoherent string of mumbles. I placed my laptop on the coffee table and curled up on the couch.

_"No, please. Don't do it." I sobbed, looking over at Sherlock. He had a gun pointed at my head and his face was entirely blank. Somebody in the background whispered,_  
_"Pull the trigger, you know you want to. Think of what you could do if this happened. You could learn so much from just pulling the trigger. Do it Sherlock." Tears welled up in my eyes and I broke down sobbing, scared of the man who I had just met yesterday, trusted and thought of as a friend. I heard a bang and everything went darker than it already was. Was I dead? Was this heaven or was it hell?_

I shot up vertical on the couch and almost fell off. I didn't recognize where I was for a second and panicked. There was a trenchcoat on me that wasn't my own and smelled pleasant, like nice men's cologne. I thought for a second; I was in Sherlock's flat and this must be his trenchcoat. I tightly wrapped it around myself, getting cozy. Nobody besides me seemed to be awake in the flat. I checked my watch. Hm. 8:30, only seven and a half hours worth of sleep. I thought I might as well try to go back to sleep. I laid back down and covered myself with the coat. I snuggled one of the arms and fell asleep almost instantly.

I awoke later to the sounds of someone rummaging around in the kitchen. I stretched and wrapped the trenchcoat around me, not really remembering waking up at 8:30. I got up off of the couch and glanced at my watch. Good, 10:00. A more decent hour for me. The person rummaging around in the kitchen was Sherlock, which gave me no surprise. I yawned and said good morning to Sherlock and all I got was a grunt in response.  
"Thanks for letting me use your trenchcoat last night," I said as I attempted to initiate a conversation with Sherlock. He gave no response. "Well, I'm off, here's your coat and you should know how to contact me. Send me a message if you find anything more pertaining to the case." I saw Sherlock's head bob a little and I turned around, back into the living room to gather my things. I placed Sherlock's trenchcoat on the couch and left the flat rather quick.  
Once home, I collapsed on my bed, absolutely wiped out from last night. I got up to go make a cup of tea to wake myself up. I'd just sat down on the couch when my phone started ringing. I put my cup on the coffee table and answered my phone.  
"Hello?"  
"Yeah, it's Lestrade," I sighed. He did know I had caller ID, didn't he? I'd told him earlier this morning. "Did you find anything last night?"  
"Uh, we found a few things. Apparently, the case is similar to one back in 1979. Sherlock and I couldn't dig anything up, but he's positive it's related. I just can't find anything at all." I heard a grunt and some typing on the other end.  
"Well, you'll need to go back over there tonight to get this sorted out. We need to get this guy caught." I sighed. Another night at Baker Street. Lovely.  
"Alright, well it's same as last time. I'll call if anything happens." The line clicked off and I sighed. I slumped back on the couch, picked up my mug of tea and turned on the TV.  
Thirty minutes later, I was dead asleep on the couch. Things flashed before my eyes. A trenchcoat flapping in the wind, a blob falling from the top of a building, a puddle of blood, and a fedora. I awoke with a start for the second time that day. I needed some fresh air; maybe this stuffy, warm air was making all these nightmares happen. I decided to change up my outfit so I wouldn't be recognized so easily. I threw on a large sweater over my t-shirt, a fedora, and a scarf. It wasn't supposed to be very cold today. I locked my flat up and ran down the stairs, eager to get away from these nasty dreams. I walked casually through the streets until I came to a park. There were ducks there and a pond. Shame I hadn't brought some bread; that would have been amusing. I found an empty playground and sat down on a swing. I pushed off and began to swing, thinking about these dreams. Both of them involved Sherlock, maybe something was going to happen between me and him. I decided to visit Baker Street and talk to John. Maybe he knew some stuff about dreams. I hailed a cab and told the cabbie the address.

I adjusted my large sweater and debated on whether or not to knock. Just as I'd decided to knock, a black car pulled up behind me. I turned to face the car. A woman absorbed in her phone said,  
"Jordyn Birkham? Someone's waiting for you." I got the feeling I knew who was waiting for me. Mycroft. I sighed and sat down in the car. A few minutes passed and we were parked in front of an abandoned building. I remembered what Sherlock had said.  
"If he offers you money to spy on me, take it. We could use it." The woman got out of the car and motioned for me to follow.

I entered the building and saw Mycroft standing in the center of a room, leaning on an umbrella. He looked at a little book in his hand.  
"Jordyn Birkham. Pleased to make your acquaintance. I have a few things to say to you. Firstly, welcome to an entirely new lifestyle. Secondly, sit."

**(dun dun dun cliff hanger)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Spying Pays a Lot**

I looked at Mycroft, unsure of what to do. I advanced toward Mycroft and stood a few feet away from him. He gestured to the chair sitting a few inches to the left of me and I declined politely. He shrugged.  
"So, Jordyn; I hear you've been speaking to Sherlock Holmes recently. I presume he's told you a few things about me?" I nodded.  
"What's it got to do with you?" Mycroft chuckled and began pacing.  
"It's got everything to do with me." I folded my arms. He swung his umbrella as he walked and faced me, pausing for a moment. "I didn't make some elaborate scheme to meet you because I assumed since you've already met Sherlock and associated with him for a day, he'd told you about me and my proposition." I nodded, still not speaking. "So, what do you say? Will you accept the offer?" I unfolded my arms at this point, torn between spying on a man I'd just met and following the same man's instructions.  
"How much?" I put my hand on my hip, deciding to follow Sherlock's instructions. Mycroft grinned.  
"I'd say about £75 a day. You won't have to tell me much, just simple things like his mood that day or what's happening." I nodded.  
"I'll take it. Are we done here?" Mycroft turned around and walked towards the exit in the back of the building.  
"You tell me." I turned to face the woman whose nose was buried in her phone.  
"I'm to take you back to Baker Street." I followed her out the door once again and we got into the car.  
"Hang on. I need to stop by my flat and get a few things." I told the driver the address and we were off.

Ten minutes later, I was dropped off outside Baker Street with my laptop under my arm and a travel mug of my favorite tea. I pulled out my phone, wondering about how much £75 was. I opened Google Chrome and searched the conversion rates. I typed in 75 and hit 'convert to dollars'. Once the final answer appeared, I almost spat out the mouthful of tea I'd had. $122.66! Mycroft was paying me 122 dollars and 66 cents a day to spy on Sherlock! Oh my God. I regained my composure, replaced my phone in my pocket and knocked on the door. The elderly lady from yesterday opened the door.  
"Oh hello dear! I hope your conversation with Mycroft wasn't too unpleasant. Come in, come in." I smiled and walked in. I felt bad about just calling her 'the elderly lady who lives under Sherlock' so did something about it.  
"I'm sorry, but I don't think I got your name when we met yesterday. May I ask what it is?" She smiled politely.  
"I'm sorry. I assumed you knew it already. I'm Mrs. Hudson, the landlady." I smiled back at her.  
"Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hudson." I gestured upstairs and she nodded goodbye. I trotted up the stairs and knocked on the doorframe before entering the flat. "Hello! I'm here again whether you needed me or not." Sherlock was sitting in his chair and John was nowhere to be seen. "Oh, it's just you. Have you discovered anything new?" Sherlock didn't look up at me; he just nodded. I sighed. "Well, may I hear it so I'll be caught up?" Sherlock sighed in annoyance.  
"It's not the same guy as 1979, he's been dead for a little while," I didn't even bother to ask how he knew, because I knew he'd get more irritated with me and my so-called 'ignorance'. "I figured out that we're looking for a man in his mid twenties, with a pale complexion, dark, dark blonde hair, and bright blue eyes." I looked up, thinking. That description sure narrowed it down a lot. The killer could very well be my brother! "I know what you're thinking, that narrows it down a lot. But we have an idea of exactly who it is. We're pretty sure it's a man named James Alva." I raised an eyebrow in surprise. Wow, he was fast.  
"Anyways, I just met Mycroft," Sherlock snorted in annoyance. "He was pleasant enough. He offered me 75 dol- I mean pounds to spy on you." Sherlock looked up at me expectantly.  
"Did you take it?" I smirked.  
"Yeah, I did. Since I'm gonna be doing most of the work spying, I figured I'd get most of it. I guess you can get about 15 pounds for rent." Sherlock raised an eyebrow. My phone rang and I jumped, mildly frightened. "I'll be right back." I left the living room and walked down the stairs into the foyer to answer the call.  
"Hey Lestrade."  
"Hey, I've been talking to a few people and since you've been working so well with Sherlock and John, I'm thinking you might need to be his partner," I jumped, surprised. Was he saying we should date? I was mildly confused. "I mean as in work partner," I sighed, relieved. I don't know if I could stand being in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes.  
"Alright, I guess. Did Sherlock tell you about the advancements he's made in the case?" Lestrade paused.  
"No, he hasn't yet. Can you relay it to me?"

I spent the next few minutes relaying what Sherlock had just said to me to Lestrade.  
"Wow. He- he's gotten farther than we have. He's even got a suspect. He must be trying to impress somebody." I could hear Lestrade's smirk in his voice.  
"I'm not sure what he's planning to do; whether or not he's planning on apprehending the guy or not. I'll call you and tell you what comes of the next discussion we have."  
"Alright, talk later. Bye." Lestrade hung up and I walked back up the stairs.  
"What did Lestrade say?" I wasn't too surprised that he knew it was Lestrade I had been talking to, he was Sherlock after all.  
"He just said we need to be partners in crime." Sherlock looked up at me and smirked. I gave him a funny look and sat down on the couch. "So, what are you planning to do with this information you've found out? Do you plan to apprehend the guy or what?" Sherlock looked directly at me and his face lit up.  
"That's a great idea! Let's go get ourselves a murderer!" I opened my mouth in shock.  
"I- uh… Okay then." I grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper and wrote a note to John.

_Gone to apprehend a murderer. Follow if possible. Call Lestrade if in danger._  
_-Jordyn and Sherlock_

"What're you doing?" Sherlock slipped his coat on and began to wrap his scarf around his neck.  
"Oh, just leaving a note for John." Sherlock scoffed. He trotted down the stairs and I followed hesitantly. What was I doing? Why was I apprehending a murderer without some sort of police protection? Who knew. I needed some action in my life, otherwise it would get boring.

We discovered where Alva was holing up and choosing his victims. The house seemed normal enough. It was surrounded buy a small shopping district, so it would be easy to blend in. We got out of the cab and stood on the sidewalk nearest the shops.  
"Jordyn, I need you to act like a tourist and I'll be your annoyed cousin." I chuckled. That wouldn't be too hard.  
"Got that down. I can already hear myself," I put on an eager, hyper, and bubbly voice and practiced. "Oh my God! I love London!" I squished my face in mock excitement. I squealed and jumped up and down repeatedly. I stopped because I was sickening myself. Sherlock looked even more sick than I felt with myself.  
"That'll do just fine." I looked toward the district, mildly nauseated with what I was going have to do and how I was going to act. We walked into the district determinedly and arm in arm. We stopped at the first stall and I put on my act.

After a few minutes of trotting around the shopping district and most likely annoying the hell out of all of the salespeople, we'd found out very little about James Alva. We had been told he seemed like a nice enough guy, he'd just moved here and nobody really knew him. We walked back through to where we'd began and stood, comparing notes.  
"Nice enough guy my ass," I muttered. Sherlock snorted at my comment and shortly, we were doubled over in full-out laughter. After a few minutes, we stood back up and straightened ourselves out. "Do you want to go back down the other half and see if we can't find out a little bit more about James?" Sherlock shrugged and we were off once again, me being the annoying little tourist and Sherlock being the ever patient, but slightly annoyed cousin.

After a little bit longer, we decided to get something to eat at one of the restaurants on the street. We finished our food and sat for a little bit. Sherlock got up unexpectedly and went to the restroom, leaving me at the booth. I got up and decided to go look at one of the shops across the way, interested in it's knick-knacks. Sherlock would be able to find me easily enough. I walked out of the restaurant and stood in front of the stall. Someone bumped into me and I felt a hand wrap around my wrist. A voice whispered in my ear,  
"Come with me and Pretty Boy doesn't get hurt." I followed hesitantly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Guns Are NOT Fun**

I followed the man who I presumed to be Alva. He was breaking his pattern. Becoming unpredictable was not good. Not good at all. He was clearly American or had spent quite a bit of time in America recently because of his accent and his tan.  
"Why are you taking me?" Alva just kept silent and we walked past all the people, towards his house. Keeping silent isn't a good thing either. That means he has something planned. Something bad planned. We entered his house and he locked the door behind us. He dragged me down into the basement and threw me into a chair. He brought over a lot of rope, tied me to the chair and tied my hands and feet together.  
"You and Pretty Boy were finding too much out, so I figured you needed to be terminated. That's why I took you. I needed to lead Pretty Boy here so I could take both of you out cleanly and smoothly. Now, you probably should get some rest." He pulled a bat out of nowhere and hit me on the side of the head. Everything went dark and I felt my head loll down on my chest. "Night night, sleep tight," were the last words I heard as I slipped out of consciousness.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
**(SHERLOCK)**

I left the restroom and walked back to the booth Jordyn and I had been sitting at, only to discover she wasn't there. I saw her walking away from the shop with a man who had dark, dark blonde hair. James. He was breaking his pattern. He must have discovered that we were coming to apprehend him. Smart man. Shame he was a murderer. He might've been a good friend. I raced after Alva but he'd already reached his door and probably locked it. I pulled out my phone and called John. I didn't have any time to text, I needed things to happen NOW.  
"John."  
"Sherlock! Dammit, why did you go off after Alva without me? Let me guess. You're in trouble and you need me there, blah blah blah. Well, I'm not going to help you or Jordyn because you couldn't wait for me."  
"John, shut up! Jordyn's in trouble. Alva's taken her and they're in his house right now. I need you here." John sighed.  
"I'll be there in a bit. What's the address?" I gave him the address and hung up. I stood in front of Alva's house, about to panic, which was not normal for me. Why was I panicking? I'd only met Jordyn yesterday. Why did I care? I sighed, frustrated. I heard a cab coming down the street and John hopped out.  
"This is the place, right?" I nodded. "And Jordyn's in there," John turned to face me. "Why did you let her wander off?" I raised my eyebrow in annoyance and faced John.  
"I didn't let her wander off, I was in the restroom and she disappeared." John pressed his lips into a line and turned back to face the house.  
"Well, what are we going to do?" I stared at the door and smirked.  
"We're going to break into a murderer's house." John sighed, annoyed.

**(JORDYN)**  
I awoke with the edges of my vision blurry. I blinked a few times and tried to clear my eyesight, but nothing happened. The room I was in was full of shadows and I glimpsed a few move from time-to-time. My eyes darted around the room, trying to get a feel of where I was. And then I remembered. Alva had taken me into the basement and then hit me with a bat. My head ached and I longed to be able to rub it. A small, uncovered light bulb lit up and I could see more clearly. The blurs from the edges of my vision had disappeared and I saw Alva slowly advancing towards me.  
"So. You clearly already know my name, it's time for me to know yours," he walked even closer and stood over me, attempting to intimidate me. It wasn't really working since I'd been in much more scarier situations, but the fact that I was partially incapacitated made me shrink back in fear.  
"It's Jordyn. Why do you care? You're just gonna kill me." He smirked.  
"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. I'm not going to kill you, Pretty Boy is. You see, I can tell you all this shit because you're gonna be dead in a few minutes." He walked away from me and turned his back. I heard footsteps coming down the stairs and Alva turned to face me. "Let the game begin." Sherlock burst into the room with John following behind. Sherlock spread his feet and stood his ground. John pulled out his military ID and flashed it at Alva.  
"The name's Captain Watson and I order you to release Miss Birkham immediately." Alva threw something and hit John square in the forehead, making him crumple to the ground. Alva blinked rapidly and shrugged innocently.  
"Whoopsie-daisy! I didn't mean to do that!" Sherlock glanced down at John, most likely assuming he'd be okay. Alva pulled a gun off of the table and leveled it at Sherlock. "Now, Pretty Boy. Come on over here," Sherlock walked towards Alva slowly with his hands in the air. Alva handed the gun to Sherlock and walked over to where John was crumpled on the ground. "Alrighty," I craned my head to see Alva's face. He grinned maniacally. "You're gonna shoot Miss Jordyn here in the face, or I'm gonna bash Army Boy's head in." Sherlock straightened his posture and leveled the gun at my head. His face went entirely blank. I scoffed and stared Alva in the face.  
"You really think Sherlock's gonna shoot me in the face? You've got to be kidding me." Alva shrugged and didn't let the maniacal grin slip one bit.  
"Who knows! Anything could happen down here, with Sherlock Holmes and his little companion John Watson. Hell, Sherlock could shoot you in the face and I'd still bash Army Boy's face in! It's a game of CHANCE!" He gestured wildly. I looked back to Sherlock, mildly frightened that he really was gonna shoot me in the face. I looked back at Alva, still convinced that Sherlock wouldn't do it, but doubts were seeping in.  
"He wouldn't…" I looked back at Sherlock. "You wouldn't, would you?" Sherlock didn't mutter anything. He didn't mutter any words of comfort, nothing. His expression was still blank. Alva laughed maniacally behind me.  
"No, please. Don't do it." I swallowed with difficulty. Fear and doubt took over my mind and I couldn't think anymore. I couldn't think of any way that this would end without me dead in the chair; a bullet in my face. I saw Sherlock take a deep breath and he looked over at Alva.  
"Pull the trigger, you know you want to. Think of what you could do if this happened. You could learn so much from just pulling the trigger. Your only friend would be safe, alive and well. Do it Sherlock." Tears welled up in my eyes and I broke down sobbing, scared of the man who I had just met yesterday, trusted and thought of as a friend. I shut my eyes tight, prepared for what was destined to come. I heard a bang and everything went darker than it already was. Was I dead? Was this heaven or was it hell?

**(DUN DUN DUN SUPER CLIFFHANGER WOW I AM A BUTT AREN'T I? Since I've pre-written all of this story, the next chapter should be out next week.)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Elementary, My Dear Watson**

**(So sorry it's late, I got caught up watching Oishi High School Battle... heh)**

I opened my eyes slowly. Hm, I guess I wasn't dead after all. I'd been untied from the chair and I saw Sherlock tending to John with Alva dead on the floor next to him. I ran over to the two, quite tempted to slap Sherlock in the face for making me think that I was going to die in a room by the hand of a stranger who I already considered as a friend.  
"Shouldn't we call Lestrade and tell him about this?" Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly and I rolled my eyes. I turned away from him and called Lestrade.  
"Lestrade."  
"Hey Lestrade, it's Jordyn. Sherlock and I decided to apprehend Alva, John's unconscious, I almost got shot in the face, and Alva's dead. So, yeah. Come on over whenever." I could practically hear the anger rolling off of him.  
"I'll be right there." He hung up, quite pissed. I shrugged. Whoops.  
"Is John okay?" I called to Sherlock. I didn't get a response, so I assumed he would be alright, despite taking a rock to his face. Then again, being in the army, I imagined he'd seen worse.  
"Sherlock, what are we gonna do now?" He turned to face me. "We've got a dead body and an unconscious friend. I called Lestrade and he seemed kinda pissed, so..."

About thirty minutes later, Lestrade was at the house, Alva was in the morgue and John was sitting in the back of an ambulance with a shock blanket on. Sherlock and I were standing around him, interrogating him on what he remembered.  
"Look, I don't remember a thing. I was out the entire time." I sighed. Sherlock shook his head and looked away from John for a second.  
"So, how about some dinner?" I grinned and John nodded. He slipped off the shock blanket and we waved goodbye to Lestrade.  
"I could go for some Chinese." Apparently, I wasn't the only one who had a hankering for some Chinese.  
"Yeah, that sounds great right about now." Sherlock agreed. "There's a great Chinese place at the end of Baker Street."  
"Do they have sushi? 'Cause I'm good just as long as they have sushi." John chuckled at my comment. I was serious about my sushi. There had to be some and it had to be good.  
"I'm pretty sure they have sushi, I'm just not too sure whether or not it's good." I smiled at Sherlock. I hailed a cab and we all piled in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
We finished our dinner and Sherlock was paying, according to John, for the first time in his life.  
"Jordyn," John spoke and drew me out of my thoughts. "I've got a question for you." I looked at him.  
"Shoot."  
"Since I'm assuming Lestrade will want you to work with us for a while, have you considered moving in?" I glanced in Sherlock's direction.  
"Um, yeah. I've thought about it. But I've got one question. Where would I sleep?" John looked back at Sherlock. Sherlock seemed to be getting a little irritated with the cashier.  
"Well, I'm sure we could figure something out." I nodded and Sherlock came back to the table, looking a little more than irritated.  
"You okay?" He glanced down at me, with a frown on his face.  
"No, the cashier was utterly incompetent and rude." I chuckled.  
"Sherlock, everyone's utterly incompetent and rude in your eyes." John snorted at my comment.  
"It's elementary, Watson."  
"So, John are you going to tell Sherlock what you had in mind about Baker Street?" John sighed.  
"Can we do this later? And not here?" I knew what he meant. Sherlock might go into a rampage, I knew that much from just knowing him for two days.  
"Uh, sure. We can talk about it at Baker Street." John nodded in agreement. For once, Sherlock was the one who was confused. I caught a little glimpse of an utterly confused face for about a millisecond and then the normal, stoic face re-appeared. John and I stood and we all left the restaurant.

Thirty minutes later, Sherlock was pissed off, John was reading a book, very smugly might I add, and I was now a new resident of Baker Street. John and I hadn't quite yet figured out just where I was gonna sleep, but that could be resolved very quickly. I wasn't too happy about sharing a flat with Sherlock Holmes, but I assumed John would be a pleasant flatmate. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.


	6. Chapter 6

What the Hell Is a Ship?

(I don't own the lines of text I put in here from the book Evil Genius by Catherine Jinks. This chapter is also going to be very long because I'm lazy and I want to get this story done so I can move on to the little thing after this.)

It'd been about three or so months since I'd moved into Baker Street. I'd gotten well acquainted with John and slowly, but surely fallen in love with Sherlock Holmes. I learned a lot about him, his nemesis, and his past. I learned that a certain Moriarty was threatening Sherlock and killing people to get to him. Sherlock had grown famous and had to avoid the paparazzi.  
John was sitting at the computer, typing away on his blog. I was standing behind him, reading over his shoulder, and Sherlock was speedily doing a crossword puzzle.  
"'Her eyes are like a cat's. They're not as soul-hardening as Sherlock's, but they're pretty intense. Gold-like in color, they're the strangest eyes I've ever seen.' What the hell are you writing? Is this some kind of fanfiction?" John looked up at me, mildly confused.  
"What the hell is a fanfiction?" I scoffed.  
"There're probably some about you and Sherlock. You know, people ship you." Sherlock put down the paper. He stared at me with hard eyes.  
"Ship? Jesus Christ, are you some sort of alien?" I shrugged.  
"It's a popular thing on the internet where a person thinks two people would be good in a relationship." John looked genuinely terrified. He whispered,  
"I'm not gay, dammit." Just as he was about to say something else, Sherlock's phone vibrated. I looked up, surprised. Who could be texting Sherlock? John picked it up since Sherlock didn't seem too interested. His eyes scanned the tiny screen. He breathed in heavily.  
"Sherlock." I looked over his shoulder. The screen read,  
I know about a little friend you have.  
Possibly your girlfriend?  
Then again, you're Sherlock Holmes.  
Come quickly and nothing happens.  
Tower Hill.  
Come and play.  
Jim Moriarty x.  
I gasped, mildly terrified. How did this Moriarty guy know who I was? He'd never met me or anything. Sherlock didn't say anything or acknowledge that we'd spoken.  
"Sherlock, I really think you need to read this." He groaned in annoyance and held his hand out without looking up from his crossword puzzle. I took the phone from John and placed it in Sherlock's hand. He put down the paper and scanned the text. His eyes widened and he leaned back in his chair with his hands in a steeple under his chin.

Sherlock, John, Lestrade, and I stood in the security office of Tower Hill, watching the security tapes.  
"Hold on, go back and reverse the tapes. There's some writing on the glass." Lestrade nodded at Sherlock and reversed the tapes. Sherlock stared intensely at the screen. Once the thing had been reversed to the proper time, Sherlock muttered the words scrawled into the glass.  
"'Get Sherlock'" He kept his eyes locked on the screen for a few minutes and then left the room. John and I followed him closely.

A month later, John was getting ready to go to the courthouse to watch Moriarty's witnesses be called up. I wasn't one for the courtroom, so I was staying at Baker Street. Sherlock was going out to the grocery store for the first time since I'd known him.  
"Good luck!" Sherlock nodded in my direction and John snorted.  
"God knows we'll need it." I smiled even harder. The boys left and I sighed. Great. I had an hour until the meeting was over and about fourty minutes until Sherlock would be back. I pulled one of my books off of the shelf and began to read, sitting in Sherlock's chair.

"'If you look up evil in any dictionary, you'll find it means everything you'd expect it to mean: harmful, wrong, malicious- you name it. And of course it's a word used by just about everyone when describing other people. You never hear nobody call himself evil. Oh, no. Misguided, maybe. Mistaken. Lazy. Stupid. Even cruel. But not evil. So what if you toss a cigarette butt out of a car window during a fire ban? It might make you careless, but it don't make you evil. So what if you kill a nest full of ants? Does it make you evil? Society don't think so. It don't call you evil if you kill a million fish with an oil leak from a tanker. Greedy, but not evil. If you went and shot fifty horses in a stable, then maybe you'd be evil. Because society loves horses, and it couldn't care less about ants or krill. Evil is just a word used by society to condemn the actions of people it don't like.'"

I heard the door slam and frowned. I put my bookmark in my book, surprised that Sherlock had gone and come back so fast. I got up and moved over to John's chair so Sherlock wouldn't yell at me. I took out the bookmark and began reading again. An unfamiliar voice said,  
"Honey, I'm home!" I put the bookmark back in and slammed the book shut. My head jolted up. Dammit. What the hell am I going to do? I blinked and relaxed, so as not to appear so frightened, even though that was probably already ruined. I spoke with as even of a voice as I could muster, saying,  
"Hello, Moriarty." He waltzed into the room and took a seat in Sherlock's chair. I grimaced. Sherlock wouldn't be happy. He grinned and spoke in a sickeningly polite voice.  
"Hello, Jordyn dear," I pursed my lips in annoyance. "How is your relationship with Sherlock going?" I scoffed  
"Nonexistent. We're not having relations of any sort." Moriarty's face contorted into one of surprise.  
"Really now, dear? He seems vaguely interested in you and from what I've seen, you're in love with him." I swallowed with difficulty and breathed in heavily.  
"How do you know this?" He grinned evilly.  
"Honey, I've got eyes all over the city." I gulped. Calm yourself, Jordyn. You can't let him know you're absolutely terrified. I scratched my ear nonchalantly.  
"A-am I supposed to be scared?" Dammit, I let it slip. I didn't think it would have been possible, but his grin widened even further.  
"No, but you should be soon. I've got things planned for you and your little detective." He glanced at his nonexistent watch and said "Oh dear, we're out of time. I'll be back later, I promise." He stood and leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. I recoiled in disgust and fear and watched him laugh as he left.  
"Bye-bye, dearie!" I heard the door shut downstairs and pulled my knees up to my chest, scared to death. I couldn't get the feel of his lips off of my cheek. No matter how hard I rubbed my cheek, the feel just wouldn't come off. I heard the door open again and braced myself for another encounter with Moriarty. I heard feet on the stairs and shut my eyes tight.  
"Jordyn? You alright?" A familiar, deep, baritone voice rang in my ears. I sighed and relaxed.  
"Yeah, fine. I think I just need a bit of fresh air." As I headed for the door, Sherlock's phone rang. We looked at each other.  
"Hello?"  
"Not Guilty. They found him Not Guilty. No defense, and Moriarty's walked free." Sherlock lowered the phone. John was loud enough that we could still hear him through the speakers. "Sherlock. Are you listening? He's out. You-you know he'll be coming after you. Sher..." Sherlock hung up.  
"You might want to take that walk now." Sherlock went into the kitchen and pulled out a jug of milk. I nodded, grabbed one of his jackets for no apparent reason and walked out of Baker Street. I hailed a cab and told the driver the address for the park I'd gone to after the dreams had happened to calm down.  
The park was the same as last time. It was deserted. I sat in the same swing I'd sat in before and pushed off, trying to relax. Was Sherlock really interested in me as Moriarty had said? He couldn't be. He was always saying he was married to his work. I swung back and forth, absorbed in my thoughts. I must have been an odd sight. A 31-year old woman on a swing in a park. I chuckled at myself. I propelled myself back and forth for a few more minutes before deciding that I'd cleared my head enough and probably needed to get back to Baker Street.  
I entered the hallway and heard a violin playing. I walked up the stairs as slowly as possible, so as not to disrupt Sherlock. But of course he heard me and paused playing for a second. The violin resumed as I set foot inside the flat.  
"Hello. You alright?" I asked timidly. I observed the teacups on the coffee table and the apple with IOU carved into it on the arm of Sherlock's chair. I gulped. Moriarty must have paid him a visit too. Sherlock grunted in response. I pursed my lips and sat down in John's chair. I drew my knees up to my chin. Sherlock stopped playing and set down the violin. He sat down in his chair and threw the apple across the room.  
"I'm fine. But you seem a little shaken up," He put his hands in a steeple under his chin. "Something's happened." I nodded and wiped my face. I took a deep breath.  
"While you were at the grocery store, Moriarty paid me a visit." Sherlock's eyes widened considerably. Except this time, his face didn't return to the normal stone expression. He leaned forward, removing his hands from under his chin.  
"Oh. What did he say?" I gulped. I replayed the conversation in my head and considered lying. I didn't want to lie, but I didn't want to ruin our friendship. I decided on telling the truth.  
"He said that you're slightly interested in me romantically and he'd be back." I decided to leave out the part about me. It wasn't lying; it was just a little truth-editing. Sherlock narrowed his eyes.  
"You've left out a few things." I breathed in heavily.  
"Uh, well, he also said that..." My voice trailed off and Sherlock looked at me expectantly. "He said that he has things planned for you. And, he-uh-knows that I-uh-have romantic interests in you..." Oh god, things were sure to get awkward now. Sherlock leaned back in his chair. He tilted his head up in thought.  
"I know." I blinked.  
"Sorry, what?" Sherlock tilted his head down slightly.  
"I've known that you're in love with me for quite some time now. It's really quite obvious. What with the way you smile at me and the way your eyes twinkle when you look at me." He raised his eyebrow. My heart beat at about a mile a minute. I pulled my knees even closer into me.  
"How long exactly have you known?" I whispered. Sherlock looked me in the eyes and my heart beat even faster.  
"Ever since I met you," He leaned forward in his chair. "Ever since I laid eyes on you, I knew that you were going to fall in love with me." I breathed shakily and swallowed with difficulty. I put my feet on the ground and leaned in towards Sherlock.  
"Really now?" He nodded and we moved even closer. Our faces were about an inch apart when John burst into the flat, interrupting the moment. Sherlock and I both whipped our heads to face him and leaned back in our respective chairs quickly. John opened his mouth and closed it a few times.  
"Uh, well then." He walked into the flat hesitantly. "Was I interrupting something?" Sherlock shook his head violently.  
"No, not at all. Please join us." Sherlock then proceeded to relay his conversation with Moriarty and I did as well.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I stood at the kitchen sink, making dinner. John was typing away on his computer, undoubtedly about what he'd witnessed earlier, and Sherlock was laying on the couch, thinking. I strained the pasta and pulled a jar of alfredo sauce from behind the bag of severed thumbs in the fridge. I threw the steamed shrimp and scallops into the pot with the spaghetti and poured the entire jar of alfredo sauce in the pot. I stirred it vigorously and pulled it off of the stovetop. I placed down a trivet and set the pot on top of it.  
"Dinner's done. Come and get it." John leaped out of his chair and made his way quickly to the kitchen. "Help yourself, just leave some for me and Sherlock." John scoffed and I walked over to the couch. "Sherlock. Dinner's ready." He grunted and muttered,  
"Not hungry." I sighed. I wasn't about to give up.  
"Sherlock. You need to eat something. You can't let this whole Moriarty thing kill you. You need sustenance. You need to live." That last line seemed to snap him out of his thinking trance. His eyes popped open and found my face. His eyes stared into mine for a few seconds and he swung his legs off of the couch and onto the floor. I backed off into the kitchen and served myself a bowl of the pasta. Sherlock did the same and we ate in silence.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We'd all gone to bed a little early that night. The silence of dinner was too unsettling. I laid in my bed down in 221C, contemplating what had happened before dinner.  
"How long have you known?" I whispered.  
"Ever since I met you."  
I couldn't get that line out of my head. He'd known I was going to fall in love with him ever since he met me. That wasn't possible. When I'd first met him, sure I was blown away by his looks, but I wasn't just swooning and falling all over him. I slowly fell asleep, listening to Alone Together by Fall Out Boy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Who the Hell Is Rich Brook?!**

**(Second to last chapter, oh boy! I'm pretty sure you know what's coming, you're just denying it. ALSO I AM SO SORRY FOR THE LATE UPLOAD, I WAS SUPER BUSY WHAT WITH SUPERNATURAL AND MY SCIENCE FAIR BOARD SOSOSOSOOOOOO SORRY!)**

It had been a little while since John's awkward interruption between me and Sherlock. Sherlock, John, and I had been arrested for different reasons, we'd run and gotten away. We'd just jumped in front a bus, been saved by a terrorist, and said terrorist had been killed. There were gallons of adrenaline pumping through my veins. John picked up a copy of The Sun and opened it up.  
"Kitty Riley gets the scoop on Sherlock Holmes from Rich Brook." Sherlock turned his head in thought. "Who is this Rich Brook guy anyway?" I glanced from Sherlock to the paper in John's hand.  
"I've got no idea, but I think we need to pay this Kitty Riley a visit."  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

A few minutes later, we were sitting in the dark of Kitty Riley's apartment. Sherlock and John were drumming their fingers on their knees out of boredom and I was tapping my foot along with them. The door opened and the light switched on. Sherlock looked up at Kitty and said,  
"Too late to go on the record?"  
Not long later, we're all three standing in the middle of the room, cuffed to each other, and Sherlock's picking the lock on his cuff with a bobby pin. He finished and handed the bobby pin over to me.  
"So, who is Brooke? Some man turns up with the Holy Grail in his pockets and you trust him right off the bat. Doesn't something seem wrong with this whole thing?" Kitty snorted and leaned back in her chair. In the midst of picking the lock, I heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Kitty's eyes opened wide and she made a move to stand, but the door opened before she could put weight on her feet.  
"They didn't have any ground coffee so I got normal..." Moriarty's eyes opened wide as he looked at Sherlock. Moriarty backed into a corner with his hands up, attempting to defend himself. His voice stuttered as he spoke. "Y-you said they wouldn't find me here! You said I'd be safe here!" I stared at him as he spoke and a feeling that I remembered all too well came back to me. The feeling of those lips on my cheek. I recoiled in disgust and no longer fear. Kitty walked forward and looked Moriarty in the eyes.  
"I'm a witness. They won't hurt you in front of me. You are safe Richard." I snapped out of my trance. Richard? What the hell?  
"Richard? What the hell is this shit? You're Moriarty. You threatened to blow up John here and you've terrorized me. You're a liar." John bared his teeth and waved his hand at Jim while facing Kitty.  
"Jim Moriarty is Richard Brook? That's ridiculous!" Kitty looked at John, seemingly pitying him.  
"No, John. You don't understand. Jim Moriarty never existed. Sherlock hired Rich to play Moriarty. Everything's an act." I stared at Kitty incredulously. I laughed and smiled.  
"That's- that's bull. I remember Moriarty coming into the flat and telling me that he knew Sherlock had romantic interests in me and that he knew I was in love with Sherlock!" By the end of the sentence, I was yelling and pointing violently at Moriarty. He seemed to cower down in the corner more with every word. John, Sherlock, and Kitty were all staring at me. I was so furious right then that I didn't even care that I was revealing the secret that wasn't so much of a secret anymore to a reporter. I lowered my voice to a harsh whisper. "I don't give a shit what you say about this man, but he is James Moriarty and NOTHING will change that!" I was inches from Kitty's face, absolutely furious with her. She turned around calmly and picked up a packet out of her chair.  
"Look. I can prove it to you. Rich is an actor that Sherlock Holmes hired to play Moriarty. Sherlock invented everything. He invented all of the crimes." She handed the file to me because I was the closest. John walked over to me and rifled through the file with me. Kitty leaned in between us. "See? He's on childrens' television." Moriarty speaks hesitantly.  
"See? I'm The Storyteller! I've even got a DVD!" John and I continued to rifle through the packet. "Sherlock, please tell them! The truth's all coming out now, just say it!" Sherlock bared his teeth and walked toward Moriarty. Moriarty turned away in fear and backed up the small flight of steps. "Don't hurt me! Don't you dare touch me!" Moriarty pointed at Sherlock, trying to keep him away. Sherlock advanced towards him and Moriarty ran through the bedroom and slammed the door. I didn't see anything else, but I imagined he was gone. Sherlock turned back towards me and brushed past me. He faced Kitty.  
"Sherlock Homes. I can read you now. And I've got three words to say. You repel me." Sherlock scoffed and brushed past Kitty violently. John walked past me and I followed suit. I slammed the door behind me in disgust.  
_

I sat in Baker Street in Sherlock's chair, thinking. It'd been an hour since we'd gone our separate ways. John had gone to the left, Sherlock to the right and I just stood there for a few minutes, then proceeding to follow John. I'd gotten a cab back to Baker Street because I had no idea where either of the boys were going. I pulled out my phone and checked it. No new messages. I leaned back in the chair. What was taking them so long? I heard the door open and footsteps come up the stairs. It was John, I could tell.  
"Have you seen Sherlock?" John shrugged.  
"He's probably staying the night at Bart's." I shrugged and rolled my eyes.  
"Oh well."


End file.
